Amends
by Queen Kez the Wicked
Summary: SEQUEL TO EPIC. A rescue, a coup, and a fast unraveling mystery with consequences for everyone. Racetrack is back in the Dark, ready to prove himself in an attempt to make things right...and maybe find redemption in the process. Good thing he's not alone.
1. Sofia anticipation

**note:** Yoww! Here we go again. Ok, here's the deal with "Amends." It will be told from the POV (first person) of three different people. Each narrator gets every third chapter, but I will make a note of who is narrating (as you'll see below) just so there's no confusion.

To everyone who read "Epic" and is sticking around to read this, THANK YOU! I cannot say this enough! I'm pretty sure this story will be shorter than "Epic," and it should tie up any and all loose ends...

To anyone who clicked on this story, but hasn't read "Epic"... I was going to write a summary of "Epic" to go in this first chapter, but there are just too many details to be able to do it justice. If you are at all interested in this story, or its predecessor, I really suggest that you just read "Epic." I know it seems like it's long, but if you tackle a few chapters each day, you will be done in no time. It is summer, after all. :)

As always, I'm open to all feedback. You guys need to keep me on my toes. Alright, here we goooo...**  
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* * *

**one: **Sofia – anticipation

* * *

I let out the breath I had been holding and opened my eyes. Swifty smiled up at me, or smirked, really. His teeth were white in the dim light and he played with an unlit cigarette.

"You look fine," he said, the smile in his voice.

"I'm dirty," I said flatly, looking down at my dress. I could feel the sand and dirt under my fingernails. He followed my gaze.

"Your dress is black," he said. "That means that you can't see the dirt."

"You don't see the dirt," I countered, "he does. He will." I stood, restless.

"Don't fall," Swifty said, and lit a match. The flame flared up and showed the empty spots under his eyes. I balanced on the steps and watched him take in a breath and then let his head fall back against the wall. He blew the smoke out up toward the ceiling we could not see.

"How much longer?" he asked. I sat back down and shrugged.

"Why?" I said, "Do you have somewhere to be?" His teeth flashed again in a quick smile, but he did not answer.

"I don't see why you're so nervous," he said then, changing the subject… changing it back to me. "What is this, your first date?"

"Swifty, stop. I'm not in the mood to argue." I rubbed some dirt off my knuckles and then asked, "Where do you think Race is?"

He did not answer for a long time and I thought that he was ignoring me. Finally, he just tapped the ashes off his cigarette and said, "I don't know." I thought it was a long time to think for such an easy answer. It had been a few days – Dark time – since we had left Race and Dutchy in the maze behind Swifty's house. By now, they had already reached the Lodging House and given Specs the Cure. I knew that they had done this, but Swifty didn't believe me. He said that you couldn't always just trust your feelings.

But I knew. And why shouldn't I? I had made the Cure; I had put some of myself into it just because of that. I knew. I knew Specs was safe, and Dutchy was probably with him. But Race? I had no idea where Race was, and it worried me. I thought about it a lot, because there was a lot of time to think. Swifty and I had been running for a while, running and hiding, and that meant a lot of time to sit and be quiet… and think. I thought about Spot, and Race, and sometimes I thought about Boots. The only one of those that Swifty would talk about was Spot, and that's why he would not let it be. We didn't have much else to talk about, not that we could both agree on, at least. I decided to try.

"You could find him," I suggested.

"What? Find who?"

"Racetrack, Swifty. You could find Race. I'm sure he needs a friend."

Swifty laughed. "Yeah, okay, right. Are you kidding? As we speak the kid is probably drunk off of a dozen free beers. He just saved the day, and he's back where he belongs. He's back at his precious lodging house." He rolled his eyes, and then added, "Besides, he's not my friend."

I expected this. "No? Then what is he?"

"I don't know. Just some kid."

"No…"

"An acquaintance."

"Swifty…"

"He's an ex-friend, alright? How does that sound?" I didn't answer. "I know what you're going to say, so don't bother. I know what you want me to do, but I can't, okay? I'm not like you, I… can't just forgive people when they hurt me."

I looked down at my hands. Swifty had said too much, but I had meant what I said before. I was not in a good place, I did not have it in me to argue. Swifty must have realized that he had crossed some line, because he did not say anything else, and he also looked down. The stairwell was so quiet, it was almost loud. I crossed my legs, dragging a foot against the step, just to hear the sound.

I was surprised when Swifty decided to break the silence. Usually, Swifty preferred things quiet. "Tell me about the last time you saw him."

I looked at him sharply. I had no words. What if I asked him the same question, about his Maddie? He would get angry. I sighed.

"If you are trying to distract me, and take my mind off it, you are not doing a very good job," I said. I wondered why he cared. Maybe he was just bored. He and Spot got along fine, but they were not close. Swifty, he acted like my big brother, but it did not take much to make Spot jealous.

"I'm not trying to distract you," he said, flicking the spark that was his smoke to the ground. "I'm curious. And I'm bored. Tell me a story."

"It isn't much of a story," I said, a little annoyed that I was giving in. "You know that we had closed down the shop, the one on Fore Street. Elke was living close." I felt an ache in my heart and again I brushed at the fabric of my dress. If Swifty was my brother, than Elke was my sister, and I still had not had any time to grieve. I missed her, and this sadness hit me often. "I woke up, and he was gone. I made lunch, he was not there to eat it. I went to bed alone, and… and scared. Everything was very loud, and then all quiet. When I opened my eyes the next morning, the sky was red. I found Elke and we left Brooklyn."

"You knew."

"I knew."

"One of your 'feelings'?"

"Don't tease me," I said seriously. "I know you have a heart in there. It happens to you, too."

He let it drop. "Okay," he said, "but I didn't ask about when or how Conlon left. I asked about the last time you saw him. How did you two leave off? Good terms? A fight? How weird is this going to be? Am I going to want to leave when I see his shadow – hell, when I 'feel' he's close?"

I narrowed my eyes at his last remark. Why wouldn't he let it drop? "How did we 'leave off'?" I repeated. "_Pues_…" I paused and frowned, a little worried that I could not easily remember. It had been a long time ago; more than three years – Dark time. For me, it had been three years. For him? I wasn't sure. I would guess it had seemed longer. The Other side travels through time much slower. Spot was used to living over here, and I'm sure that each day had seemed at least twice as long for him.

"It was normal," I said finally. "He found me before dinner, said not to bother. Said he would be home late." I put the day together in my mind and remembered more and more. "That meant that he would be back after I had fallen asleep. He would come inside and try not to wake me up, but I would… it was a… a routine. He would climb into the bed, and put a hand on my waist, or kiss my forehead, and I would wake up, and find his hand, like I wanted to make sure he was real…" I trailed off, afraid that I had said too much, but Swifty looked at me with real interest, and a kindness that I had not seen in his eyes for a while.

"You should stop drinking," I said, embarrassed, and I guess looking to embarrass him, too. He hadn't had time to find a drink since we had left his house. He had been unhappy about it for a while, and still was, I think, but there were times like this, when he was back to normal. I would have liked for him to stay in these moments.

He just raised an eyebrow. He knew what I was trying to do. "Keep talking," he said, resting his head back against the stone wall. "I'm not really listening, I just like the sound of your voice."

I knew he was lying, but I continued anyway. Talking, pretending things were normal, that was comforting. And, somehow, remembering was helping me. Maybe it was distracting after all.

"He didn't come home. Maybe I knew then, but I stayed around for that day just in case. Going to bed alone – again – was the hardest thing, even if I had done it a thousand times. You know, I'm not sure why I did not leave during the day… why I had to wait. It wasn't safe. But he wasn't after me."

"He? Brooklyn? Are you sure? He was… is… too busy keeping an eye on Conlon to worry about anything else, even the things he should. Well, I mean, except the obvious. Except recently." A slow smile came to Swifty's face. "Ha. Yeah, he looks away for one second and Conlon, the tricky bastard, runs up and stabs him in the back."

"Maybe," I said softly. I don't think Swifty heard.

"Do you remember the last thing he said to you?" he asked.

I was quiet again, thinking. I had been near the window, reading in the sunlight. He had come home, looking for something in our bedroom. He stood at my shoulder, looking past my head at words he had no interest in, and I smiled to myself, pretending not to notice how near he was. Then he touched my hair, and said –

"Don't wait up for me," I murmured.

"What?" Swifty asked, but then the door handle clicked from the outside. We both jumped up, me almost falling off the stairs in the process. Swifty grabbed my arm and steadied me. The door was locked, and the person on the other side of the wall rattled the handle impatiently. Swifty gave me a long look. "I hope this is who we think it is," he said. I just looked straight ahead, trying to calm whatever was jumping around in my stomach.

Swifty undid the latch and the noise on the other side stopped. He rested his hand on the handle, paused, then pulled it open. My heart felt like it was shaking my whole body to its beat. I tried to take deep breaths, but they were getting stuck in my throat.

Standing in front of us and blocking our path were two tall shadows. I recognized just one of them, and was confused by a rush of feelings. Why? Because he was no longer the boy I remembered? Or because I was so happy to see a face I knew?

I felt Swifty's fingers on my waist and he drew me close in what I realized was a goodbye hug. My head fit under his chin and I stared into his chest, trying not to cry. I was suddenly so scared. He pushed me away gently but did not look at me. I bit my lip and watched him walk away… he disappeared so fast.

I was left with nothing but those quiet shadows.

"Miss?" one said in a low voice. I turned to them and I'm sure my eyes were bright.

"Okay," I said. "Okay."

We left down the alley, the opposite way from where Swifty had gone. One of the boys – men – was in front of me and the other behind. They did not speak, and I tried not to think, but Swifty's questions had opened a box of memories that I had thought I had nailed shut long ago. Now they came back to me from the cracks between the boards and there was nothing I could do to stop them. I hoped that it would not be a long walk.


	2. Dutchy  home

**note:** I apologize for the relative shortness of these chapters... I'm still kind of getting my feet wet with this story, trying to figure out how to work the timing an different things. Of course, a huge thanks to everyone who is sticking with this saga... and I love to see new faces, too! (Thanks, Flare and Endless Necessity!) Like I'm sure I warned before, I'm not sure how often this will be updated, but I think chapter three should be coming along shortly... I miss Race!**  
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**two: **Dutchy – home

* * *

It was ironic, the fact that I was sleeping when he finally woke. I wasn't dreaming, I know that, because my eyes snapped right open when I felt the familiar pressure of his fingers on my shoulder. My gaze focused straight ahead – Jack's bunk – while my heart sped up so fast that for a second, I couldn't breathe. It was dark.

_Tap, tap, tap._ "Dutch." _Tap, tap._

I squeezed my lids shut, almost frightened by my now-wet lashes. Then I faked a yawn and rolled over. Specs' head was blurry and beautiful. I wished for my glasses.

I think he smiled up at me, but didn't show any teeth. It was a small smile, a sleepy smile.

"Hi," he whispered.

"Hi," I croaked back.

"I just wanted to see your face. I feel like I haven't seen you in awhile."

My chest tightened and the dark blob in front of me became even blurrier, if possible. I had to bite my tongue, literally, and feel the pain there, just to stop from saying anything, because anything would've been too much. I remembered Sofia's words. _He will wake as if from a dream…_

"Don't be silly," I said with effort. My voice sounded strained and false, at least to my ears. "I saw you like, an hour ago."

"Hmm, maybe," said Specs, grinning for real this time. "And maybe I was just trying to be romantic."

I smiled weakly. He was studying me; even if I couldn't see it, I could feel it. He reached up his hand and dragged a thumb roughly under my eye. The action left a streak of dampness that I knew would leave my cheek stiff when it dried.

"Bad dream?" he asked, concerned.

"No," I said, the tightness moving up to my throat. "Just dust."

* * *

"Sell the papes! Getta move on! Up an' attam, ya lazy bums!"

A couple days ago, this sound was like music to my ears. Kloppman's yelling, the thuds as boys jumped to the ground, even the constant arguing in the washroom couldn't put a damper on my spirits. I was home. That, however, was a couple days ago. Now I was back into the routine, back into wanting an extra five or ten minutes of sleep, cringing as I hit the floor, and yelling at kids to knock it off so I could concentrate on shaving, or whatever.

"Ey, Dutch! Help me with this, would ya?"

I sat up, ran a hand through my hair, and lowered myself to the wide pine boards. I grabbed my glasses and scratched the back of my neck, smiling despite myself. There was one thing I wasn't quite sick of.

"What – where are you?"

Specs' head popped into view from the other side of his bunk and the corner of his mouth quirked up. "Can't find my glasses," he explained. "I think they got knocked under the bed."

I rolled my eyes but got down on my knees to look with him. I spotted a glimmering something in the middle of the space, probably right past the reach of my fingers, and flattened on my stomach in an attempt to swipe it.

Specs must have seen it at the same time I did, because our hands collided over the frames. He barked out a laugh but I grabbed his fingers blindly and held them, just for a second. I let go and he took the glasses and stood, a little red in the face. I probably blushed a little, too, and sheepishly made my way toward the washroom.

There, I fought for a place and began to wash up, feeling thoughtful despite the early hour. It sounds stupid, but that was the way I'd been acting recently – thoughtful. I couldn't help it, I had a lot to think about. I just hoped I was the only one thinking about it.

The day I'd gotten back – but before Specs had woken up – I'd asked the whole bunkroom to just… forget about it. I didn't know any other way to bring it up to a group of boys who may or may not have known exactly what was going on. _It's over_, I'd said, _so let's just leave it be. I'm sure you guys have all talked it to death, anyway, so let's not bother Specs. Let's all move on._ Somehow – unless they'd approached him when I wasn't around – the boys had actually listened. All of them. Although, truth be told, I couldn't think of a time when they would have found Specs alone. But I didn't care about that.

As for Specs? Well, besides his eerily insightful comment the night he woke, he seemed completely normal. I was glad for this, but… I had to admit that sometimes it weighed me down, knowing all these things I couldn't share.

The Brotherhood – the Pact – whatever Racetrack had called them – those boys had helped a little, at least in the beginning. But they were busy, too, and didn't have much of a reason to start hanging around with me when they never had before. I'd been to see Bumlets and Kid Blink, who were both still in the hospital (but doing fine). Snoddy had disappeared before I'd gotten home, and nobody… well, except me… knew where he'd gone. To my surprise, Skittery had been pretty nice, and talked with me the second day I was home. We decided that I shouldn't talk about anything with Specs – the Dark, his sickness, anything – unless he brought it up first. Even then… it was thin ice.

I was relieved, I think. I didn't feel the need to talk about any of that stuff anyway, I was too exhausted of it all. And as for his experiences… well, if he even remembered them, I wasn't sure I'd want to know about those, either. I'd thought I'd known him, and everything about him, until Swifty and Race told me differently. I wasn't up for any more surprises, not like that.

I finished washing up, found a fresh shirt, and trooped downstairs with the crowd, glad to be out on a sunny day. Specs caught up with me after about a block and we walked comfortably side by side.

"I think we should try the Park today," he suggested, jangling the change in his pocket.

"Alright," I agreed. "S'a nice day."

"Yeah. Yeah, exactly. And I'd like to sit down for lunch, you know, one of those benches…"

I nodded and we continued on, chatting like this every once in awhile. It was so easy, so normal. I liked how everything was familiar, like slipping into an old pair of shoes or stopping to scan the headlines on Newspaper Row. We got our papers and wandered off toward the Park, splitting up and selling on opposite sides of the street as we went. Every once in awhile, I would look across and catch his eye and smile, or make a face, or something. So I guess that, yeah, I was back into the routine, but that was okay. I guess I wasn't sick of it after all… I enjoyed the little things because for a while, I didn't think I would have them again.

Around noontime we collapsed onto a shady bench and dropped our papers at our feet – Specs would need two hands to eat his hot dog, which was covered in a mountain of relish. Mine was plain.

"You know who I haven't seen in awhile?" Specs asked through a mouthful. I snorted and then tapped a finger on the corner of my mouth to let him know that he was starting to wear his lunch. He raised an eyebrow in recognition, but left the food there, probably just to annoy me.

"No, who?" I said, rolling my eyes.

"Race. Racetrack. Where is the mick bastard?"

"Got me," I answered honestly, with a half shrug. "I haven't seen him since… how long's it been, now, three, four days? Maybe he's in Brooklyn. Maybe he got in some trouble, s' hiding out for a little while." I had to laugh a little, picturing that last one. I had a feeling that Race wasn't very good at 'laying low.' But where was he, really? I couldn't say for sure, but I would be willing to place a bet that he'd wandered back to the Dark. I had barely seen him at all once we'd gotten back to the Lodging House, but I couldn't really make any excuses about that… I had been relieved, so, so relieved, and Specs had been the one thing on my mind. Hell, maybe he _had_ gone to Brooklyn, joined up with Spot to help with whatever that kid was doing. I doubted that, though – they hadn't seemed so close when we'd met. But if he was in the Dark… why? And where was he going? And, well, who with?

That question opened up a whole box of problems that I honestly hadn't thought about since I'd returned. I had been thoughtful, sure, but only in regards to my own experiences, and questions that related to myself, or to Specs. Now I frowned, wondering why that was. Sure, I was worried about Sofia, and even Swifty, but they hadn't crossed my mind once. What –

"Uhh, helloo? Dutch!" Specs snapped his fingers in front of my face, effectively yanking me from my thoughts. I blinked a few times, as if waking up. "Just makin sure you're still on planet Earth, buddy," Specs said with a little laugh, shaking his head. He stood, brushed his hands off on his pants, and picked up his few remaining papers.

"You wanna try an' sell these, or just dump 'em and go for the afternoon edition?" he said as I shoved the last of my lunch into my mouth.

I swallowed and said, "May as well sell 'em."

"Sounds good."

We started to walk back out, taking a route that would lead us around and back to the distribution office with enough time to finish our morning before we began our afternoon.

* * *

It was dark by the time we returned the lodging house, and there was a chill in the air that hadn't been there before. I was ready for bed, not because I was tired, really, but because I wanted some time to myself to think about all the questions that had resurfaced during lunch. I wished I had someone to talk to about them, but no one else knew the whole story, and I wasn't allowed to breathe a word to Specs, either.

We paused at the door so Specs could dig his lodging fee out of his pocket.

"Jeez, a hundred dollars? I dunno, I guess for starters I would get a decent meal," I was saying, continuing a conversation that had spawned from a lottery poster stuck on a nearby building. My own pockets were satisfyingly heavy; it had really been a good day all around. "What do you think, we could go up to that… Specs?" I heard the sound of coins on street and turned with surprise, then jumped off the stoop and knelt by Specs' head. What was that! One second he was right behind me, the next he was flat on the cobblestones, pale and sweating.

"Not again, not again," I muttered, cradling his head. After a few seconds, however, he opened his eyes, and brought a hand to his forehead, clearly confused.

"What just happened?"

"I think you slipped," I said unconvincingly.

"Everything just went black," he murmured. He sat up and looked around. "We're at the lodging house."

"Yeah… we were about to go in for the night. I think you dropped your money, though." It was dark, but a few nearby streetlamps glinted light off some of the fallen coins. I helped Specs up and onto the stoop, then gathered as much of the money as I could find.

"Here… I'll spot ya if you're short."

He waved me away with a hand, frowning to himself.

"You okay? You hurt?'

"Nah…"

"Alright." I paused, still feeling a little nervous, but awkward, too. "You wanna go inside?"

"I guess so…" He stood without my help and opened the door halfway, then hesitated, and turned to me.

"Dutch?"

"Yeah?"

"When did Swifty's house burn down?"

I froze. There was a strained silence between us until I finally got out, "I think maybe we should stay outside a little while longer."

Clearly, things weren't going to go as smoothly as I'd assumed.


	3. Racetrack  return

**note:** I apologize for the shortness of these chapters. I really hate writing the beginning of a story, and this is my third beginning in a row! In theory, as things pick up, the chapters will get back to normal length (I aim for 3,000 words). In the meantime... bear with me. :) And enjoy. And tell me what you think about the whole three-narrator deal. Yea? Nay? &c.**  
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**three: **Racetrack – return

* * *

It was dark, so I focused on the one source of light that I could find. The moon was full and reflecting off the water below, illuminating the buildings at the rivers' edge and the trash that floated in its depths. The bridge on which I stood was small, but sturdy. I leaned heavily against the rail, staring down into the water, my feet spread wide to support my unsteady self.

This was not the first time I'd regretted returning, but it was certainly the drunkest. With effort, I moved the small tin flask to my lips and considered taking another sip. It was midnight, or later, I was in the middle of the Dark, and I was lit up like a Christmas tree. Why I hadn't yet been attacked was beyond me. I was asking for trouble, leaving myself so vulnerable like this. But that's the thing… I would have welcomed a fight, an enemy, even injury. It would have given me something to do, something that was easy to figure out, simple to carry into action. If I had purpose for even five minutes, it would be more than anything else I'd done since I'd returned. Besides, I'd had the vague feeling that I was being followed, and I figured that if this didn't draw him out and into the open, then nothing would.

I tipped the flask back and swallowed the last few drops hungrily, wishing I had a bigger container. The whiskey didn't burn anymore. I put the flask away in my vest and attempted to stand up straight. This failed miserably, and left me just facing the other way. I blinked a few times, the darkness swimming before my eyes, and then slid to the ground so I was sitting against the solid rail. I let my head fall back and my legs go out straight. I must have cut a pretty pathetic figure.

I'd been back for a few days and had got absolutely nothing accomplished. When I'd crossed over, I'd been exhausted, and sick, and had let myself rest, figuring that I wouldn't get anything done if I was in such rough shape. I recovered quickly enough, but soon realized how little planning I'd done. I wanted to find Boots, to save him from whatever we'd sentenced him to, but I had absolutely no idea how or where to start.

Oh, I'd returned to the place, the address that we'd gone to originally. But there was nothing there, at least, nothing like what we'd seen when we went with Boots. They were gone, cleared out, whoever 'they' were, and they'd left no trace behind. I'd had one lead to go by, and it was a complete dead end. That didn't really justify getting drunk on a bridge in the middle of nowhere, but at this point I was past excuses.

"Oh, this is real cute," a voice said from the darkness. I thought about jumping to my feet, ready to defend myself, but the thought apparently got lost somewhere between my brain and my legs. I settled for grunting instead. Footsteps brought the source of the voice much, much closer to me, and despite what should have been liquid courage, I started to feel quite nervous.

"Tonight," I said loudly to no one in particular, "I am invincible."

"No," the voice corrected with disdain, "tonight you are an imbecile."

Suddenly I realized that the voice was very familiar, as were the footsteps, and the shape and size of the figure that was crouching next to me.

"Oh," I said pleasantly. "Good afternoon, Swifty."

"Good aftern-- you've got to be kidding me. Race, what the _fuck_ are you doing out here?"

I didn't really have an answer, so after a pause, I tried, "It's a nice night?"

That was met with stony silence. Swifty latched an iron grip on my upper arm and pulled me up with a jerk. I put a hand to my head in an attempt to stop the entire world from tilting and spinning wildly. "Shit," I grumbled.

"I have no sympathy for you," Swifty said. "None at all. Now, no whining. We have to get you inside. You're lucky I was looking for you anyway, or else you would've been a goner long ago."

So that's why no one had attacked me. Well. Says he. Swifty likes to take credit for things like that.

"Hello, this isn't the way to your house," I after a few minutes of being dragged around. It was too dark to see all that much, but I still had a general idea of where we were headed, and it was not familiar.

"I don't have a house," Swifty said coldly, stepping up his pace. "It was razed."

I struggled to recall the last time I'd been at the house. Ah, yes. Something had been thrown through the window, a mob of unruly minions had surrounded the place, and we'd fled quite quickly. I guess it all made sense, then. But burned to the ground? That seemed a little extreme.

"I'm sorry," I said about five minutes later. He didn't say anything.

We stopped soon after, and he dumped me unceremoniously to the street. I crumpled into a heap with an "oomph," but didn't feel much of anything, thanks to the whiskey. Apparently the cobblestones took credit, and I would pay for it in the morning. Swifty tapped the door softly. It opened wide.

"Jeezum crow," said a voice that I was pretty sure should be familiar as well. "Found 'em, didja?"

"Yup," Swifty said, grabbing my collar and hoisting me up. "Let's get him flat."

The other voice whooped and I soon found myself herded inside a warm place, dropped onto something resembling a bed. Then, thankfully, I was left the hell alone. _Here we go again_, I thought before passing out into a deep and dreamless sleep.

* * *

I woke to bright lights and loud noises and realized that I was going to die. _Lord_, I thought desperately,_ please make it fast. And painless. But mainly fast._ I attempted to roll onto my stomach to block out my senses, but only succeeded in falling off the cot I was laying on and landing with a very painful _thud_. It was then that all my bruises from the previous night awakened with me, and I realized that this was not going to be a good day.

Slowly, I got to my feet, wincing the whole way up. I supported myself with one hand on the cot and raised the other to my pounding head. _Water_, I thought. _Water, and… a blindfold. No, just water, and a lot of it._ I closed my eyes and started to look around for some energy.

"You know," Swifty began dryly. I opened my eyes. He leaned against the doorsill, holding a large mug in both hands. "I hear that the best way to cure a hangover is to have another drink."

"You'd know, wouldn't you?" I muttered darkly, closing my eyes again. Then I remembered that Swifty had probably saved my life the night before, and I immediately regretted my bitter words. "Sorry," I said, "I just-" but as I opened my eyes, I saw that he was gone. Yeah, I was off to a great start.

Somehow, I managed to make it out the door. On the other side was a small kitchen. Another mug – steaming – sat on the counter closest to the doorway. Swifty was facing the stove, his back to me. Something was sizzling. The room was warm, and smelled delicious. None of this helped my guilt. But, if I played nice now, I thought with an inward sigh, he would only be suspicious.

"What's all this?" I asked, taking the mug in hand and gratefully breathing in the rich smell of a dark roasted coffee. "And where am I? No, hell, why were you following me last night?" Another thought struck me. "Where's Sofia? Is she here, too? Was she following me?" I paused, took a sip of the coffee, burned my tongue. "Ith sthea okay?" Ow.

"I'm only answering two questions, so choose them wisely," Swifty said without turning. I put my coffee down and hoisted myself up on the counter. I could vaguely remember hearing One Lung Pete's voice the night before, so we were probably at his house. If not, well, I'd find out where we were soon enough. 'What's all this,' was obvious enough, it was coffee and breakfast, though why Swifty was making it was still a mystery.

"Why were you following me last night?" I asked finally. "And where's Sofia?"

"One at a time, tiger," he said, turning off the gas and facing me, mug still in hand. Idly, I wondered how much whiskey was in that innocent looking mug. Swifty may have been Chinese, but that didn't mean he couldn't drink Irish coffees with the best of them. No, wait. Swifty drank tea. What would one put in tea?

"Are you even paying attention?" Swifty snapped, shooting me a look that was something between concerned and murderous.

"Of course."

"I was following you because even after all this time, you haven't figured out how to look out for yourself." He paused, took a sip of his whiskey/coffee/tea. "Sofia is with Conlon."

I gave him a moment to continue, he didn't. "Well," I said, irritated, "that sums it up quite neatly." He shrugged, took another sip, and returned to the stove. I slipped off the counter, but Swifty's voice stopped me from trying the other door across the room.

"I wouldn't go out there if I were you," he said quickly. "Petey is doing some work, and we all know how that can turn out." I thought about One Lung Pete's scarred face and missing fingers and decided that I was indeed better off in the kitchen, no matter what kind of mood Swifty was in.

"Really, though," I said after a couple minutes of silence. "Why were you so conveniently around last night? And how big of a jackass was I?"

"Didn't you already ask your two questions?"

"Um, I guess, I m-"

"And didn't I answer them?"

"Well… yeah." I gave up. I wouldn't push it, at least not for another hour or so.

"A huge jackass," he said then, leaving the stove with a plate in each hand. "Eggs?"

* * *

_**end note:** I tried asking Swifty "since when did you guys become comic relief?" but he refused to answer, or even acknowledge that I'd asked, because apparently I'd reached my word limit for the day. It was, like, 10:30am. _


End file.
